I was standing in my kitchen as I leaned all of my weight on the plunger of my French press and watched the filter begin to begrudgingly descend through the dense black water.
I had opened my eyes to a text a few minutes ago that’d took me a few extra seconds of squinting in my sleepy bewilderment to believe the name before I swiped open to read the message. Heidi Vogel. She’d sent the text at 7:30 am – probably after having already completed her religious morning workout routine – and I’d yet to reply an hour later.
Camille, it’s Heidi! I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve reached out. I’m in Portland today, would love to grab coffee near you if you have an hour.
I poured myself a potent cup of coffee, and scurried back to my still-warm sheets to dissect the reason that Heidi would be in town – and why she would be texting me – before I’d craft my reply. I hadn’t seen her since an awkward dinner with her and her daughter Keely a few years ago when I was in Seattle for a writer’s conference. Heidi had seen me tweet that I was in town and sent me a text insisting that I join them at their favorite trendy Vietnamese spot for happy hour.
It was a couple years after she and my dad had divorced, which was portrayed very amicably on social media. I still remember the post Heidi made. She was one of those moms intent on staying young and hip, and had taken well to Instagram with the help of her daughter Keely.
It is with heavy hearts that Charles and I move forward with our separation, but we’re both entering new chapters of our self-growth journeys with infinite love and gratitude, read the caption underneath a photo of her poised in the lotus position on a sunset beach in Bali – probably on a post-divorce yoga retreat.
I’d appreciated the olive branch, but felt awkward getting together with them for dinner. And awkward, it was. We made small talk for an hour at a corner table overwhelmed with tiny plates of various sautéed vegetables and mini meat skewers and giant glasses of white wine, while avoiding the subject of my dad. I was relieved when it was over.
She’d never been the evil stepmother by any stretch, but she and I still never really connected as much as she’d wanted us to. I still feel guilty when I think about that. After everything, I believe that her and my dad really were in love – or thought they were – when they got married, when I was fourteen. She wore a chic floor length cream sheath and held a bouquet of calla lilies in a simple ceremony, and Keely and I were her bridesmaids.
When we bought the new house, Keely was sixteen, but I’m sure at the time, we looked much more than two years apart. I was still wearing giant fleece hoodies from my childhood trips to Disneyland. Keely was a walking Abercrombie & Fitch ad with a water bottle full of Vodka in her Kate Spade tote that her and the popular girls drank between classes.
She and her mom had the same long, wavy blond tresses, the same perfectly curved and pointed nose, the same sky-scraping cheekbones, washboard tummies and Victoria’s Secret boobs. I had my mother’s Persian genes – full lips and coarse black hair, but the pale skin of my dad, and a nose curved in the other direction. Keely said my full eyebrows made me look like Frida, but helped me pluck them into separate shapes and wax my upper lip after she caught me in front of the mirror trying to shape my brows with a Schick razor.
Our parents were determined for Keely and I to be friends. And Keely did treat me like her little sister, as much as two girls who have been thrown into the same nest as teenagers can manage. She was never cold to me, even though we remained in separate social circles at school. If anything, I sort of avoided her in the halls, intimidated by the ever-present band of party kids and football players that flocked around her.
We had good times gossiping in her bedroom after school – well, her sharing the gossip with me. I’d watch her primp in the mirror and she’d teach me little make-up and hair tricks as she went, before sneaking out to be picked up by her friends and boyfriends to attend late night shows downtown or cool kid parties. But our short time together wasn’t long enough for us to solidify a lasting bond in our adulthoods. Over the years, and with the awkwardness of the divorce, we’d lost touch and become different people.
It’s been more than a decade since those days. I went to college for journalism and managed to secure an internship at Willamette Week – the premier newspaper for the hipster masses in Portland – a stroke of luck that spring boarded my writing career, while Keely got her own lucky break when she was scouted by a modeling agency at seventeen and began picking up gigs for local clothing outlets’ catalogs. Eventually, she got a few big jobs with Nike and Speedo in Portland before appearing in national campaigns – a huge level up for a girl from the quiet Pacific Northwest.
After the divorce, Heidi and Keely moved back to Seattle, where Keely was raised through elementary school. Heidi fell back into the elite Seattle social scene that the Vogel family tree was long immersed in, which I always figured suited her better than cozy little Portland, anyway, and Keely was able to get more legit gigs as a Seattle-based model.
It was a pretty seamless split as far as divorces go – I think because neither Heidi nor Keely had really felt at home in Portland, anyway. They always had this inadvertent heir of prestige about them that made them stand out here, even in leggings (Lulu Lemons) and knee-grazing hippie-chic cardigans (Free People.)
I nuzzled back into my crinkled sheets, resentful of the new morning chill on my bare feet that October had brought back around, and breathed into my bitter coffee. I already felt high from the caffeine. Or was it the anxiety?
I gulped down a scalding sip and resigned to my feeling of obligation to see her. I grabbed my phone and quickly typed back, Heidi! I’d love to get together. Are you free at 10? Tea Chai Té on 23rd Ave?
I stared at the screen for a few seconds making a bet to myself that she’d reply before the clock changed one minute, and low and behold my screen lit up with her reply: Perfect, see you soon, love. My heart gave an involuntarily leap. I lay there for a moment, still spinning in conjecture about what my ex-stepmother could want, or if she really just wanted to catch up, and threw off my grungy sheets to get up and satisfy the sudden urge to brush my teeth.
I was shivering as I walked down 23rd Avenue, a few blocks away from my studio apartment in Goose Hollow. Ballet flats were a bad choice for a cold morning and my ankles were paying the price. It was almost 10:00 and the sun, a dim light behind a white blanket of clouds, had done little so far to warm up the day. But at least it was dry outside. As I approached the tea shop, a wind began to drag some fallen, shriveled leaves along the sidewalk. I guess this Indian summer had to end sometime.
I liked to come to this café on the weekends ever since high school. It was a cozy upstairs nook on the trendy shopping street that permanently smelled of incense and old jars of tea leaves. Because it was off the street, tourists didn’t usually overwhelm the place.
I let myself in and climbed the creaky stairs, annoyed at myself for being so nervous to meet Heidi, where a hipster barista’s half-shaved head and oversized tortoise shell glasses came into view. I reached the top of the stairs and peered into the second door’s window. Amongst the old leather arm chairs and sunken in vintage couches, Heidi was perched at a table against the wall, her face illuminated by her MacBook, which she was staring down at from beneath her ever-present lash extensions. My heart gave another leap.
I turned the knob. The door shrieked and its hanging bell clanged in the quiet ambiance of the cafe. “Welcome,” the barista sing-songed at me, not looking up from her book. I saw Heidi’s face light up. She tossed her blond hair over her shoulder and stood up, raising her arms like Jesus in a stone-gray cashmere wrap.
“Heidi!” I exclaimed in an involuntarily high-pitched tone, hating the inauthenticity of my voice. What is it about people from your past that immediately time travel you back to being an insecure little girl?
“Camille,” Heidi crooned from her table, tilting her head back and ushering me toward her with her come-hither, cupped hands. I did an awkward walk-jog toward her and she embraced me with her tiny frame in a warm, rocking hug. She was wearing the same sophisticated signature perfume that brought me right back to high school.
“Oh my God, it’s so good to see you,” I said. Heidi looked the same – same high voltage white smile and glossy thin lips, same fluttery lashes, same focused blue eyes, permanently looking thirty-something years old.
“You too, sweetheart. You too. What do you like here? I got a lavender tea – it’s divine. I love this place. I’m so glad you picked it. I was just going to say Starbucks, but this is so much better,” she babbled, and ushered me over to the counter, her brick-sized wallet in hand.
“What looks good to you, honey? Let’s get one of these crumb cakes, too,” she said, winking at the barista as she pointed inside the case.
“An earl gray, please,” I squeaked, my mouse-voice persisting. I certainly didn’t need any more coffee. Heidi whipped out a crisp bill and placed it on the counter, turning her attention back to me.
“You are so beautiful,” Heidi said, shaking her head as she looked me up and down, clasping both of my wrists. The Vogels really knew how to make you feel special and worthy, like part of their club. I always admired that quality, one that I was never able to embody.
“Oh, stop,” I said in a mock-groan, smiling at the ground. “Thank you, Heidi. So do you. You look exactly the same.”
“Well, no. I’m sure that’s not true. And you certainly aren’t. Last time I saw you, you were… twenty? Twenty-one? You’re so sophisticated,” Heidi said, pursing her lips like a proud mom. “You’ve always been gorgeous, but you look like a business woman now, too. Oh my God.” Her voice almost cracked at the end and my heart surged with a love for Heidi I’d all but forgotten I had. I let out a relieved laugh and my nerves subsided a bit. She really is a lovely woman. I felt guilty for even considering not meeting her.
“I read all your articles – whenever I see you post. You’re a genius. I always knew you were going to make it. And I want to hear all about it.” I always liked how Heidi’s pleasant ramblings filled up the air and guided our conversations.
The barista smirked at me as she handed me a steaming mug of tea and gave Heidi her change, which she barely glanced at before depositing the ones into the tip jar, put her hand gently on my back, and glided us back toward our seats.
We sat down and she immediately clasped my hand again over the table to focus her wide, glassy eyes on mine.
“I’m so glad that you were free today to meet me,” she said, and abruptly paused and shook her head. “I’m just sorry that we haven’t kept more in touch the last few years… I didn’t want to—” she paused again. I wasn’t used to seeing her struggle to articulate. “Given the circumstances—”
“No, no, no. I know,” I blurted.
She pursed her lips again and looked up at me through her lashes. “You’re sweet. You’ve always been sweet,” she said, and clapped her hand on top of mind to conclude our sentimental moment. “So.”
“So,” I breathed. “How are you? What are you doing in town?”
“Oh, hangin’ out, visiting old friends. I miss my little Portland life sometimes,” she said smiling, but with a tinge of sadness that compelled me to change the subject.
“I’ve been keeping up with you and Keely on social media,” I offered cheerily. She nodded, her sad smile fading as she stared past me.
“We’re good, we’re okay,” she said, now her voice squeaking and she fluttered her eyes back into her head. “Well, Keely’s not the greatest right now, to be honest.”
I lowered my eyebrows to show polite concern, but truthfully, I did have an inkling that something was going on with Keely.
Over the past couple of years, her presence online had been sporadic. She had a few long periods of disappearing from social media, which she’d return from with no explanation and strings of over-zealous daily Instagram stories – filtered selfies of her sitting in her Mercedes, mundane photos of her morning avocado toast, selfies with friends (or strangers?) at bars around Seattle. Nothing too far out of the norm for anyone else, but with a frequency that suggested she was… bored. I couldn’t tell if she was working, but it didn’t seem like it. It’d been a while since I’d seen her post any photos from her jet-setting model trips.
I felt a sting of guilt as I noticed Heidi was unconsciously poking her shellacked maroon thumbnail into her palm, clearly vying for a way to deliver some unflattering news in a diplomatic Vogel fashion.
“I’m not sure if you’ve been in touch with Keely at all in the last year or two,” she said, not pausing to force me to answer, “but we did – we did have a little incident last summer where Keely took a few months off, well, we sent her on a little health retreat in Utah,” she said, regaining the assured resonance of her voice as she concluded.
“Oh, ok,” I said. Translation: rehab. “Is everything … okay?”
“I didn’t mean to just jump right into all of this, but it is part of the reason I wanted to get together,” she said. “You know, Keely has had such a great run with modeling, and I’m so proud of her, but the… lifestyle, you know,” she said shaking her head and looking up to me for validation.
I nodded and let her continue. Over the years I assumed that Keely was engaging in the typical party scene that comes with modeling – and I’d seen as much, following her on social media. Just the PG stuff, of course. Boomerangs of her and her model friends popping bottles of champagne and clinking skinny glasses on yachts. Dark photos and shaky videos from VIP tables at clubs. Her attending festivals in scanty get-ups where doing MDMA is practically required.
“It did get a little out of control,” she said. “And we’ve been dealing with it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, lowering my voice. “I didn’t know. I honestly haven’t talk to Keely in a while.”
Heidi waved her hand to dismiss the guilt seeping from my strained voice. “We thought she was doing better over the last year, but…” she rolled her eyes and shrugged. “We’ve been a little concerned about the… kind of people she’s been hanging around. Well, the kind of people that have been hanging around her.”
I was curious what she meant, but not wanting to seem like I was prying, just gave a knowing nod.
“Anyway, I want to hear about how you’re doing. What’s going on with you? I understand you’re freelancing now. You’re a boss lady.” She flashed me her Hollywood white smile and planted her chin on her fist.
I laughed in embarrassment. “I don’t know about that. I mean, I do have some regular clients, so that’s been great. And yeah, I’m still just living here in Portland. It’s getting a little expensive here, you know, with all the new people, but it’s good. I’m good… Glad school is far behind me.”
I always tend to speak in choppy little explosions, ironic considering forming sentences is my bread and butter. But Heidi nodded at me with intense concentration like she was listening to a recitation from Maya Angelou.
“But that’s all, really,” I said, desperate to stop talking about myself. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch with Keely. I feel terrible.”
“Don’t,” Heidi said with dramatic seriousness. “But, there is something that I just want to float by you.”
I raised my eyebrows for her to continue and braced myself. “I know this is a tremendous thing to just lay on you like this, but I think it could be great – if you want to, only if you want to. And I absolutely don’t want to assume anything about your circumstances or your flexibility.”
I waited for her to continue, confused.
“Keely has been living in this gorgeous three-bedroom condo in Eastlake in Seattle for the past couple of years. We got it for her with the intention that she could have a roommate every now and again. You know, a friend come and sleepover. A crash pad, that kind of thing,” she said, I’m sure referring to the revolving door of model friends Keely had collected.
“Keely suggested this to me in passing, and she doesn’t know I’m here with you, she would be so embarrassed,” Heidi went on. “She really misses her little sister and is sad that you two haven’t been in touch. And she said she always wanted to live with you again someday, like sorority sisters. And that you would be welcome to come and stay – for free, of course – anytime you want.”
I blinked, trying to sort out what Heidi was suggesting. “Just an idea, really. But since I have been following your glamorous writer life, you know – that you’re working from home and coffee shops all the time – and you’re so put together. You really have it together. I thought it would be a cool opportunity for you if you wanted it. To just spend a few… weeks or months living in Seattle with Keely.”
I opened my mouth and smiled in shock. “Wow…!”
“I know, it’s crazy,” Heidi said, waving away her hand again as if to shoo the idea away. “You and Keely haven’t talked in so long—”
“Only because we’re both so busy,” I butted in.
“Of course,” Heidi said. “Exactly. I just wanted to float it out there and let you think about it. You could save a few months’ rent living there with her – we have the condo paid off – and you girls could just chill and catch up. Of course, I’d want to front the bill for anything you need, if you had to break a lease, hiring movers. That goes without saying.”
“That’s quite an offer,” I said, realizing that Heidi had put a good deal of thought into this already.
“You’ll think about it, of course. Don’t feel like you ‘have to’ at all,” she said, putting up air quotes, then reached down to squeeze my hand again, and looked at me with dead seriousness.
“You know, you’ve always been the good one,” she whispered. I blurted out a laugh. “It’s true! It’s true,” she said, laughing now herself. “You’re the good one. You were a good influence on your big sister. And she really needs a good influence in her life right now.”
It made my heart feel warm to know that Heidi still thought of me as Keely’s little sister.
“I will definitely think about it,” I said, meaning it. I had been so focused on maintaining the momentum of my career since graduating college a few years back that I hadn’t gotten the chance to think about doing any traveling, let alone moving to a new city. And I had always been curious about Seattle…
Heidi released my hand and picked up her fork, use it to point to our neglected coffee cake. “Now,” she whispered, as she faked a sly look over her shoulder toward the barista. “Let’s see if this coffee cake is any good.”